


come back breathing

by fictorium



Series: with our hearts still beating [1]
Category: Scott & Bailey
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Hospitals, Post-Episode: s01e05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-02-01 04:16:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21373369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictorium/pseuds/fictorium
Summary: Rachel and Gill in the aftermath of Janet's stabbing. Forensics, shock, brave faces, and an unexpected overnight stay.
Relationships: Rachel Bailey/Gill Murray
Series: with our hearts still beating [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1554163
Comments: 20
Kudos: 74
Collections: Femslash Exchange 2019





	come back breathing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kimaracretak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimaracretak/gifts).

“D’you want me to pretend I can’t see you?”

Gill. Not bollocking, not ripping the piss. She sounds… kind. Rachel hates herself for liking it, for wanting to hear more of it, but she looks up from where she’s had her head on her knees for God knows how long. 

“Is she…?”

“Still in surgery,” Gill replies, offering one of the shitty machine teas she’s holding in her hands. “Drink this. I’ve just had to force Ade to drink his, so don’t think you’re a match for me. I’m in no mood, kid.”

“I’m avoiding the SOCOs. They’ll want my stuff for processing.” It’s a childish admission, but Rachel is pretty sure it’s the only reason Godzilla would come looking for her. It’s that or poncing another fag, and they can’t do that in the cleaners’ cupboard. Probably. It’s a hospital, there’ll be bastard smoke alarms everywhere.

“I heard as much. You couldn’t wait to get out of those clothes before.” Gill takes a slow sip of the godawful brew, and watches, unblinking until Rachel does the same. It tastes like a rusty sink, and yet somehow her brain cells respond and start to unscramble. “Didn’t you hear what I said before about being part of the crime scene? Do you really want to be explaining to Janet in a few days how we lost a crucial piece of DNA evidence because you didn’t give up some things you grabbed about three Next sales ago?”

“Don’t.” 

It’s a plea, but Rachel isn’t entirely sure what she’s asking. She doesn’t really have an out loud explanation, but like hell is she explaining the fucking nonsense that’s been filling her head this past hour or more. How the sticky, crusty clothes staying in place somehow guarantee Janet staying alive. As if these clothes coming off, being bagged and tagged, will be tantamount to pulling the blood bags away from the operating table. 

“I’ll do it with you then,” Gill says, draining the rest of her tea. “Or at least I’ll be here. I didn’t get anything on me, not beyond those shoes that were half done anyway, but I’ll take a paper suit and look a twat right alongside you.”

“What about Andy?”

“We’re not talking about him right now. C’mon. And I mean, not to belabour the point here, Rachel, but we both know you’re not an amateur when it comes to getting your kit off, don’t we?”

There it is. The cheap shot that Gill knows will work almost every time. Rachel might give her the finger if only her arms didn’t feel like lead. “Where?”

“Here’s fine,” Gill insists, opening the cupboard door and beckoning to the waiting Scene of Crime Officer. It’s somehow a relief when it’s one of their familiar faces, Nabs who’s been at most of their crime scenes this month. Rachel leverages herself up using the grey shelves, mostly filled with generic white bottles of cleaning sprays and industrial-sized rolls of blue paper towels. There’s one of those giant floor buffer things in the corner, and Rachel decides it might not be the worst thing to have something to grab onto while she does this.

“Blouse, jacket, trousers. That’s three bags. Shoes in another. We won’t need anyone’s unmentionables, will we Nabeela?”

“Nah,” Nabs confirms, shaking her head. Her long, dark hair is worn in a plait that Rachel’s never had the patience or the coordination to manage for herself, and she looks knackered in the dim light of the janitors’ cupboard. Rachel vaguely remembers something about her being off on maternity leave last year, that might be something to do with it. “And don’t worry if your bra and pants don’t match; nobody’s ever do on days like these.”

“Speak for yourself,” Gill says, that little huff of impatience through her nose. 

Rachel isn’t remotely surprised. It’s perfectly fitting that Gill would no sooner come to work with badly coordinated undies than she would go back on patrol without a stab vest. 

“Right,” Rachel says, suppressing a sigh. Gill was right; stripping off has never been an ordeal. “We can go check on Janet when we’re done, yeah?”

“They won’t let us past the waiting room,” Gill warns. “Although I think I’m wearing that Sister down.”

“Must be your natural charm.” Rachel can’t resist as she kicks her shoes off and slips her trousers down her legs. The crackle of dried blood peeling off her thighs gets a bigger wince than the times she remembers to go and get her bits waxed every other month. She can’t fuck it up now, not with an audience. Her jacket is easier, she shrugs that off, and it’s just a case of getting her top off and in the waiting bag.

The paper suits are a joke. She rips one leg and can’t get the fucking thing to zip, because her hands haven’t been steady in hours now. Not helped by the fact that she’s desperate for another smoke, ideally washed down by a fucking gallon of the first red wine she can lay her hands on. She can’t even look up and get a pointed look from Janet, because she’s on a fucking cold table somewhere, with a bunch of public school twats commenting on her insides. She’ll be livid if she makes it out, she really will.

No, Rachel can’t look up until she hears the zip of Gill’s own blue paper suit, because being caught staring at your governor in a state of undress isn’t okay even under this kind of stress. It’s not like Rachel has spent a lot of time wondering, well no more than average when wading through paperwork, or eighteen hours of the worst porn ever filmed.

“Got this?” Gill asks Nabs, but it’s not as snappy as she usually is. “Make sure the exhibits guy from Syndicate Three does it by the book, you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Another rustle of the plastic bags, and Rachel’s alone with Gill in the cupboard again. It isn’t any less bloody weird. 

“Three?” Rachel asks. “But…?”

“Rachel. There’s no way in hell they’re going to let her colleagues and friends work on this. The appearance alone. No. Not even you really think that, do you? Jesus Christ, have I been telling you to slap a smile on it when you’re genuinely fucked up, or what?”

“I just need to get this… fucking… zip.” Rachel is sure she’s done it now, she took the clothes off when her gut said not to, and the machines are probably beeping and she’s only gone and fucking killed Janet.

“Here, here,” Gill shushes, and her hands steady Rachel’s own, pushing them down to her sides and then pulling the zip up for her in a slow, steady movement. “Hey, you’re not the first to lose it over a mate, don’t think it’s a contest.”

When Rachel lifts her hands again, God help her, she’s grabbing at Godzilla--_Godfuckingzilla_\--somewhere around her skinny hips and actually cuddling her. Well, it’s not so much a cuddle as one of those half-arsed rugby tackles mates try when they’re too pissed to judge space, but Rachel can feel something rising in her throat like sick. It’s hot and it feels like choking, and she’s been dancing on her nerve ends for too long to stop it now.

It’s an absolute fucker of a sob. Total soap opera, mortifying bullshit. They wouldn’t even let you away with that on _Emmerdale_, but the sobs just keep coming. 

And Gill, fuck’s sake, doesn’t even push Rachel away in disgust. Instead, she wraps her arms around Rachel’s back like she knows what she’s doing. She has a kid, Rachel remembers. Maybe giving comfort actually comes naturally to Gill, and it’s the bitch from hell routine that’s all an act.

“That’ll do,” Gill says after a minute. “I think you needed that, but we’ve got to go out there and prop up Ade. Dorothy and the girls will be here any minute, and we cannot, must not, let the confidence slip for a second. D’you hear me, Rachel?”

Rachel can’t help but hear her. Despite saying what she’s said, Gill’s not let up with her grip on Rachel’s shoulder blades, any more than Rachel’s loosened up her own hold. The words are literally vibrating into Rachel, muffled against their paper suits. They probably look like they’ve just escaped a cult. 

“Right. I’m all right,” she says after a short eternity. This music will have to be faced at some point. “Let’s go see what’s happening, and I’ll ring my sister, see if she can bring me some real clothes. Might be a long night.” She doesn’t mention Nick, with his stupid offers of dinners or lifts, all to keep her sweet. With this much perspective, Rachel can’t believe there was ever a time she didn’t see right through him. 

“There’s my bright spark,” Gill mocks gently as they finally let the hug end. “Game face on, Sherlock. Nothing to worry about until we hear otherwise, right?”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

Gill ushers her out into the corridor, pulling the door closed behind them. “Damn right whatever I say, toots. Now let’s go find Ade before Dorothy gets him all in a state all over again.”

***

When the news comes through, when the exhausted, rude surgeon says that Janet will most likely make it to morning, the relief comes at them like a tidal wave. She isn’t out of the woods, not with all the infections and complications that could still occur, but she’s over the first big hurdle.

Rachel isn’t going to speculate on the jolt of jealousy when Ade pulls Gill into a hug before anyone else can get the chance. He deserves that, needs comfort at a moment like this. No time for Rachel to be a selfish prick about wanting a second cuddle from Gill Bloody Murray of all people. Instead, Rachel has to content herself with hugging the girls--Taisie first of course--before passing them over to Dorothy, who clearly needed a moment to compose herself. Can’t be easy on the old bird. All those hours of thinking she’d outlive her daughter. 

Must be nice though, having a mum who gives a shit. Rachel scrubs her cheap flip-flop slipper thing against the floor, wishing she had her boots on so she could kick the shit out of something. They would hide the chipped remnants of nail polish too, that gaudy pink that Taisie had insisted they use for ‘pedicures’ that had really just been a tickle fight waiting to happen. 

The thought of those girls being without Janet flips Rachel’s stomach all over again, and she excuses herself with a tight smile. If her years of drinking and stinking hangovers have given her any skills, it’s definitely being able to hold back a little longer when she wants to vomit. She’s done and washing her face when Gill comes to find her.

“Still hanging in there, kid?”

“Yeah, I’ll do better now. On an empty stomach.”

Gill makes her own visual inspection; after a moment she seems satisfied. “Listen, they’re not letting anyone see her ‘til after breakfast, other than Ade for just a minute. I’ve called a couple of uniforms to come and take us home, try and get a couple of hours’ kip right?”

“No,” Rachel protests, although it sounds lovely. “I want to stay. I want-”

“_Rachel_. Home, sleep, shower, change. Understood? I’ll be doing the same.” Gill looks knackered, she finally sees it then. She won’t let herself go home if Rachel is still standing vigil, being a better friend than she is. 

“Yeah, okay. No good to Janet as zombies, are we?”

She sees the last three texts from Nick, all variations on _ready whenever you need me_. And God help her, Rachel can’t face going home to an empty house. It would be so easy to reply to him then, at her lowest point.

Maybe Gill senses the scale of the fuck up about to happen, but when they reach the exit she pulls Rachel right along with her to the first car. 

“No point wasting petrol. You’re coming home with me.”

***

What is she thinking, bringing a junior officer to her house? Ever since Dave, she’s kept any hint of work folk away from the place, even Julie Dodson. Years of drawing a line between work and home, at least until Janet had come back to work, just tossed aside. Well, it’s not exactly any old evening, not with it being closer to dawn than sunset, and Janet still hooked up to God knows how many monitors in ICU. 

It was just that look on Rachel’s face. That watch-me-drink-the-bottle, I-can-fight-the-guys, kami-fucking-kaze look of stupid, weary determination that crossed those dark eyes. Going elsewhere there was no limit to how much damage she could do, in that state. Same way as Gill would step in down the pub before a few cross words could get out of hand--that copper’s instinct for trouble that never quite dims--she had stepped up to avoid the next in the line of catastrophes that Rachel Bailey called a personal life. 

“Right, bathroom’s top of the stairs. Use what you like, there’s spare toothbrushes in the cabinet cause God knows Sammy loses his twice a month for reasons that elude me. I’ll toss you something to sleep in, then it’s the spare room at the end of the hall for you.”

At least Rachel still responds to orders, trudging upstairs a little louder than Gill would like. She busies herself with tipping out her handbag, checking her phone and seeing nothing missed that can’t wait until morning. It’s the work of a minute to fish some paracetamol out of the kitchen drawer and fill two pint glasses with water. It’s not a hangover, but all the crying and stress can feel like one. 

Checking the spare room is made up, Gill leaves pills and water on the mismatched bedside table, a leftover from the last bedroom set she had before Dave moved out and she burned most of their shared possessions in an impromptu bonfire night. Ready to drop, she fishes out a pair of cotton pyjamas that never fit her, hoping they’ll at least reach the knee on a lanky streak of piss like Rachel. They’ll be loose enough at least, even if they are Gaviscon pink.

“Here,” she says, meeting Rachel in the hall. “Text your sister… or whoever was bringing you clothes, and tell her to drop a bag here in the morning. You’ll come into work with me and we put everything we’ve got into nabbing that bastard Hastings, even if we’re not officially on the case. Got it?”

“Yes, boss.” They’re talking in stagey whispers, faintly ridiculous. Sammy could sleep through an air raid, but Gill is just in the habit now. He isn’t even home, crashing with some mate or other. She nods towards the spare room, watches Rachel stumble in and not quite close the door behind her. 

A moment later Gill follows, knocking on the door. She isn’t expecting Rachel already stripped to the waist, Venus de Milo with her arms still on. 

“Sorry, sorry, I-”

Rachel doesn’t attempt to hide, utterly unashamed of her body. She turns instead, raising one eyebrow in question. 

“I was gonna, now this is daft, but I wanted to see if you needed another cuddle before bed. Only I could murder one right now, but no, anyway-”

It’s three steps for Rachel to close the distance. She doesn’t cover up or do anything when the paper suit slips off those slinky hips and falls the rest of the way down, letting her step out. She’s just in her knickers, the bra already on the floor. The shock hasn’t cured her terminal messiness, then.

But then they’re holding on to each other like drowning people again as they did in that storage cupboard. 

“Lighten up, boss,” Rachel rasps, her mouth grazing Gill’s fringe and then her forehead. “It wasn’t your fault either. You do know that, yeah?”

Gill nods, though it’s as big a lie as she’s told in the last twelve hours. She doesn’t know why it feels so natural for Rachel to pull back just enough to tilt Gill’s face up to hers, with one gentle finger under her chin. Gentle is not a word that goes with Rachel; not like chaotic, not like dangerous. 

The kiss though? That’s not fucking gentle. It’s the desperate press of one mouth against another, a mutual need for more contact, more comfort, more life. Gill thinks she might whimper a bit, which is fucking embarrassing enough, but then she’s clutching at Rachel’s bare shoulders, holding on for dear life when Rachel’s kisses trail from her lips along her jaw, starting down her neck. 

Something in the house shifts then. A noise from the boiler settling or something blowing over in the garden, but it’s enough to have them springing apart. Only then does Rachel cover-up, crossing her arms over bared tits like that will suddenly turn back time.

“Okay. Right. Clearly a total-eclipse-of-the-whatever there. Say no more, we’re both under a lot of stress.” Gill almost believes it as she says it. “You get yourself to sleep, I’m next door if you… well, probably not eh? Night, kid.”

She pulls the door closed behind her as she escapes, bolting into her own room and closing that one too. It’s far enough, and nowhere near it. Twenty-odd years of consummate professionalism, now she’s snogging half-dressed subordinates in the spare room?

What the absolute bollocking fuck was that?

***

Rachel’s first instinct is to run, of course it is. She could call a taxi, call Nick or Alison and line up an easy escape. But when it comes to it, the bed and the pyjamas are just right there, and sleep is rising in her like the tide coming in at Blackpool Pleasure Beach. The pink cotton is ridiculous, but it’s soft and it smells of that brisk, clean fabric conditioner that Gill must do all her clothes in, or maybe it’s her perfume, but either way, it’s reassuring to slip over her naked skin.

She texts Alison before she can change her mind, asking for clean clothes and giving Gill’s address. Adds an update about Janet that is probably too optimistic for where they actually are.

Climbing into the single bed, Rachel realises its mattress is in far better shape than her own, and the hunched muscles of her back sing out in relief. She considers for a moment reaching for that glass of water, taking a sip, but she blinks one time too many and it all goes nice and dark. 


End file.
